


A Lesson in Remembering

by Fallingtowardsoblivion



Category: Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Immortal Merlin, Modern AU, Off-screen Relationship(s), One-Shot, Other, Post-Camlann, Post-Season 5, Professor Merlin, Reincarnation, alternative ending, of-screen depression/suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtowardsoblivion/pseuds/Fallingtowardsoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was probably through some morbid fascination that drove Merlin to assign – year after year – the same essay to his classes. A speculation, a study of different sects of the same myth, that revolved around King Arthur’s demise."</p><p>An alternative ending to Diamond of the Day pt: II</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Ayy I wrote this because really c'mon ain't NOBODY over Merlin.

 

“Alright, alright – go ahead and head out early. God knows nobody wants to be kept late on a Friday afternoon.” Merlin said, rolling his eyes as he turned to wipe off the chalkboard. At the professor’s words, the room erupted into a clamor of moving chairs, shuffling papers and inane chatter.

“Don’t forget to turn in those Camlann papers before you leave! It’s a letter grade if I don’t get a printed version!” Merlin shouted over the general bustle of the lecture hall, having paused in his wiping to turn and scan the room.

A shock of golden blond hair caught the warlock’s eye – a crown of hair so achingly familiar that the mage felt a physical pain. Whirling around to follow what he’d seen from the corner of his eye – hoping beyond hope for the sight of something long ago wretched from his being – Merlin scanned the crowd.

Any hope growing within his chest was immediately squashed. Though, of course, it wasn’t much to begin with. After all, the professor was more often than not finding his mind’s eye playing tricks – leading him to see things from a past so many centuries bygone that it’s only solid remains were in the forms of legends.

Well, legends and Merlin.

But the warlock had long ago accepted that he was of a time past, and had accepted his immortality with the grace of a man who had gotten tired of watching the cuts on his wrists knit themselves back together, and the bullet pushing its way back out of his skin.

So Merlin had left his depression, and instead reinvented himself half a dozen times – most recently landing the deceptively old man a job at Cambridge – working in the mythology department.

After all, Merlin never could resist the allure of Arthur and Camelot – in person or legend.

The thick, battered door at the end of the lecture hall slammed shut, knocking Merlin from his reveries and back to the present.

The hall was empty, save for the sloppy stack of essays at the edge of his table.

Sighing and giving himself a private, sad smile, the professor finished wiping down the board with nothing save a sharp look. After all, the hall was empty, the board was large, and no one would believe their eyes.

Sorcery wasn’t real, after all. Embellishment, meant to add a healthy spice of fear and awe to the stories of old.

Merlin smiled again, this time more genuine, as the gold faded from his irises. He quickly picked up the stack of essays and tucked them into his satchel. Then, hastily pulling on a silly knitted hat that Arthur would’ve surely ridiculed him for in an age past, and grabbing his thread-bare jacket, the warlock too left the lecture hall.

 

***

 

The legends of King Arthur had changed over the years. Merlin himself wasn’t even added to the stories until many, many years later – not called by his birth-name until after the walls of the great citadel itself had crumbled to dust, and even then his role became warped and untrue.

It was probably through some morbid fascination that drove Merlin to assign – year after year – the same essay to his classes. A speculation, a study of different sects of the same myth, that revolved around King Arthur’s demise. The warlock would more often than not sit down to grade the essays with a glass of wine and the bottle close at hand – looking through the inaccurate recounts from people who could never, ever, ever have known the truth – never possibly guessed the whole weight of the events that had transpired around the death of the King.

Sometimes Merlin would stop grading them. Counting all the essays turned in for only completion. Sometimes he would comment on speculations with hints at theories fantastic and outlandish – and wholly true.

Sometimes he would pull out a cigarette (cloved, because the smell reminded him faintly on Camelot in autumn) and remember.

It was as Merlin flipped through the papers, past three essays in a row that speculated on the actual location of the King’s death, when the warlock suddenly paused.

It was the title that made him stutter.

 

_A King’s Thanks: a speculation on the location and events surrounding Arthur Pendragon’s Demise_

 

Merlin’s fingers shook as he put down the cigarette – extinguishing it with a flash of gold.

The name at the top of the page was generic enough, if not a damn funny _joke_ : Arthur Perce. The title held little difference, save for one stabbing word.

 _Thanks_.

A flash of unpleasant, numbing memories flooded Merlin’s body with all levels of emotions – making the professor quickly grab for that glass of wine.

He downed it.

Then, his resolve once more intact, the warlock turned back to the paper, slowly feeling all the blood rush from his body as he read further. A page, then two, then four, and then the papers were scattered along the carpet as Merlin ran from the room in a haste unmatched for millennium.

On the top of the stack, peeking out from the oh so incriminating title, was the first page of the essay. It began like this:

_“In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests of the shoulders of a young boy…”_

 

_Arthur was back._


End file.
